


Bottom of the Glass

by FFV_Kaizer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFV_Kaizer/pseuds/FFV_Kaizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, Jade and Rose stopped calling months ago. Stopped pestering weeks ago. And she…<br/>You are Dave Strider. You are completely alone.<br/>You have just been warned for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Bottom of the Glass

The game was finished. Our planet was reset. A new Earth, at least, in any way that mattered. You don’t know how, don’t really give a shit. It was John and Jades pet project. You just followed directions. Or maybe you did give a shit, but just forgot. It’s been a long time. You don’t keep track of time anymore; it’s bent you over and fucked you bloody enough times, _thankyouverymuch_.

The four of us split up with promises to met every year, keep in contact, yada yada. You went to the first one, maybe the second. You don’t know why you stopped. Well… you do, but that’s your own problem, damnit.

You’re Dave Strider. Not Dave _Fucking_ Strider, not anymore. Not everything has to be a goddamn emergency. It’s alright not to be the Knight of Time. At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you wake up alone, hung over with a migraine, or, worse yet, with a woman curled up beside you and not a goddamn clue who she is or how she got there.

You wake up, it might be early. Thankfully you’re alone. The nightmares have gotten worse. They’re too close to home. To close to the truth. At least this time it was just Rose. She always died horribly, but her unwavering trust that you’d fix everything was at least some comfort. John, goddamn John, said it every time, just in case, just in case. And Jade. Bright and shiny even while dying wouldn’t have been a problem except… Just once, she wasn’t. She was scared and you played it too cool and she thought… thought you couldn’t fix everything this time.

Time for a drink. You steal a glance toward the clock. It’s flashing a neon red 5:32 pm. Not that that matters, you haven’t reset your clock since the power outage last month. The bar’s just two buildings down from your apartment, so you toss on some clothes that could pass a cursory inspection for clean.

Outside, the sun’s threatening to rise. The prospect of impending retina searing causes you to speed up a little. Yeah, you’ve got your shades, you don’t even bother taking them off to sleep anymore, but flimsy plastic won’t protect your hung-over bloodshot eyes from the sun’s awesome rays.

The bar, My Little Pony, yeah, even you can’t defend such a terribly named pub, is blessedly dark. The bartender spots you stumbling in and starts pouring you the usual. Blessed ugly toad of a man. You’re chugging down alcohol like it’s Saint Paddies day when this sweet little thing claims the seat next to you, bold as you please, staring you down. You’re… pretty sure she’s not one of the mystery women who show up in your apartment from time to time. It’s hard to tell in a drunken stupor.

You missed her name when she says it. But she says she likes fixing fucked up men, even though you tell her you aren’t fucked up… At least you think you said that. Pretty soon she’s dragging you home.

You get better, after some time. The nightmares are still there, but you don’t feel the need to hold your liver hostage after each one. Sometimes she wakes up to you tossing and muttering and asks who Jade is. Like you’ll ever spill your guts. Jade? Why, she’s an old friend I used to watch die! Sometimes you say nothing, other times you lie, saying she’s an old conquest. It’s funnier when she asks who John is; you always say he’s a conquest.

Sometimes they call, leave a message.

“Hey Dave, it’s John. Listen, I’ve got some really big news for-“ Deleted.

“Strider, Lalonde. Answer the phone.” Deleted.

“Daaaaaaave! Our phone numbers changed so make sure you listen, oh this is Jade by the way!” You pause listening to the whole message before deleting it.

You wake up one morning, you call it that to be generous, and she’s not next to you. Not a big deal, it’s already noon by the light streaming through the blinds. It’s night by the time she gets back. You’re slaving over the stove, flipping a burger occasionally.

“Dave, I’m pregnant.”

That stops you cold. Inwardly, you’re in full panic mode. How did that happen? You were always careful… from what you remember. You aren’t ready for this. Maybe in a couple years, settle down… But then you think. Why not now? Bro was younger when he took care of you. But the cool you has already responded

“That’s cool.”

And neither of you say anything more.

 

The next day she’s gone again, and you woke up early. You think it’s a little after 8. A little more worrisome, but no biggie. You’ve got an errand to make. When you get back she’s there with a beer in hand. You’ve crossed the distance between her and the door before she even notices you’re home. “Hey” you tug on the beer “What about the baby?” You can feel one of those rare half smiles on your face at the word baby.

And she looks up with infinite slowness, before responding. “I took care of it.”

“You… _what_?” It’s spoken with such calm you’re almost proud of yourself.

“Come on, Dave. We both know it wouldn’t have worked.”

And risking sounding like a broken record. “What?”

“You’re a good guy to have around occasionally, but me, you, we’re not really a permanent thing. What we’ve got is a good thing, but… I know there isn’t a next step with you. You’re better, but… You never talk, about anything, really. And me, I’m just hanging around like a spare coat for when you feel cold. I’m okay with that, just… We’re both kinda fucked up, Dave. I can’t see us sticking together raising a kid. Can you?”

“I could.” You pull out your little errand. The most expensive little black box you’ve ever bought. “I did. “

Her eyes are wide before she squeezes them shut, pinching her nose. “Dave, we… you were a great lay. A decent friend but… How could you think there was more?”

The shades come off. She flinches. She hates your eyes; you’ve known that since the first night. They’re too unnatural for her. A twisted sneer affixes to your countenance. It isn’t a face cool Dave wears.

“That’s all I was?”

The little black box is flying, hurdling toward the kitchen with such force that when it does hit the microwave, it sends spidery cracks across its surface before settling on the counter. Cool Dave is nowhere to be found; despite how desperately you wish he would step up to bat. A little shrug of his shoulders, a muttered whatever. But you’re mad, madder than you’ve ever been.

“THAT’S ALL I WAS? FUCK! YOU FUCKING PLAYED ME!” That doesn’t make any sense to you, but right now it doesn’t matter. “ME! FUCKING DAVE STRIDER!”

Not Dave _Fucking_ Strider, he’s too cool to lose his shit like this. And you… you aren’t sure what you are anymore. Somehow a barstool has made its way into your hands, you can’t remember grabbing it. Splinters rain down as you smash it against the floor.

“AND I WAS GUNNA- I was… “ That stupid little box. It’s like you’re _fucking_ Egbert, wishing for a cookie cutter house with a little picket fence. But you’re not John. You’re Dave, not _that_ Dave, just Dave, a shitty shadow of what you were.

“Get out. Leave your key and don’t come back.”

If anything, the quiet scares her more than the raging. But she complies, leaving a faint cling as the key hits the tile in her wake. She pauses at the door.

“You need help, Dave.”

You sneer. “I thought you said you were gunna fix me.” It’s a petty jab and you know it.

“I was... You’re just… too broken.” And she’s gone.

…

The bars are calling.


	2. Shattered on the Ground

A night, a day, they’re all the same. Maybe it’s a week, maybe it’s a year. You don’t give a fuck.

 

A bleary eye opens and instantly regrets it. To say you were shitfaced drunk is an understatement of the previous night. You were three sheets, full tilt, hurricane winds, heading out of port for the deepest, stormiest waters and you weren’t planning on coming back.

An eye hazards a millimeter, and while still a new form of torture, remains open. You… aren’t sure where you are. A shift of the body reveals there are far too many bodies in the bed for your comfort, which is to say more than just you at the moment. After disentangling limbs, you scour the room for your clothes, and are relieved to find your wallet intact.

And you’re gone.

Problem one. Your car isn’t here. Not that you actually drove to a bar. You think you remember hooking up with a group to bar hop. Problem two. You’ve only got twenty bucks in your wallet and you have no idea how far your apartment is. Problem three. You’re really hung-over. Your shades are gone. The sun’s dialed up way past eleven and it’s noisier than John at a premier showing of a shitty Nicholas Cage movie. Which is to say, way too fucking loud.

Problem one and two down. You hail a cab, turns out you’re only five or six miles from home. If twenty doesn’t cover it then at least your close enough to hoof it. Problem three, well, not much you can do. At least you’re a seasoned expert at functioning with your head splitting open.

You’re home and not a moment too soon. You reacquaint yourself with the gods of porcelain, offering up everything consumed from the last 24 hours. A shower, clean clothes and you almost feel human again. And then it hits you.

You’re completely alone.

John, Jade and Rose stopped calling months ago. Stopped pestering weeks ago. And she…

You don’t really want to think about that right now. What you do think is you need another drink.

 

The nightmares are back again, only worse. Every last one is the truth, a genuine memory.

Rose: Her body’s mangled from an ogre she didn’t catch fast enough. She’s looking up at you through a mask of pain and blood. “Careful, Strider. Your cool is slipping.” No fucking kidding. Her gritted grin is horrifying, the angles of her limbs are just wrong.

You watch her die. Rewind.

Rose: She assures you that everything will go right. If not you’ll fix it. It went wrong, so wrong. Her mind is broken. Jade says it’s from horrorterrors or some such shit. She screams and screams until her throat is bloody. Her eyes are ruined from her nails. Her howling hits a feral pitch. She lashes out against anything and everyone.

John puts her down, says you don’t need to carry this. Rewind.

John: Fucking John. So many times you had to clean up his shit. He, like the fucking idiot he was, decided Barbers Best Friend was a good idea. Sure, it deals a metric shit ton of damage, but most of that is aimed at yourself. Just look at the damn thing, it screams bad idea. And now he’s lying there bleeding out from seven thousand cuts.

“Heh, Dave, I guess that was a really close shave.” Like it’s the time to be cracking dumbass jokes. He dies quickly. Rewind.

John: He says it every other time, when his spine’s cracked, when his arms are gone, when there’s rebar sticking out, when there are too many imps and someone has to stay behind. Sometimes he whispers, sometimes he yells, sometimes he’s crying, sometimes he’s laughing. It’s always the same. “Take care of them, Dave. Tell them I love them, a lot. They’re the best sister and friend I could have. Tell’em… tell’em it’s been fun.“

You said it every time. “I’ll fix this, John.” And he says so quietly. “I know, but… just in case. Just in case. Dave, I love you too, you’re the best friend I have. And… I’m sorry.” And it hurt more every time he said it. Rewind.

Jade: She tells you it’s okay, even though you see it’s not. You don’t want to think about the gaping hole in her side. Her rifle backfired, she combined it with something too powerful. The sound is sickening as blood plips into a puddle. She’s babbling about squiddles for a reason you can’t fathom until you realize she’s scared but trying not to give in.

You stroke her hair to calm her as she dies. Rewind.

Jade: The one that gets you. Rose and John were both already dead. Jack came for them. Then for us.

Jade was fatally wounded, not the worst you’d seen, but bad regardless. And then Jack’s coming for you. You keep trying to start up the turntables, cracking jokes and dodging bolts of green energy, but Jack keeps getting in the way. Jade, she thinks this is the final end. That Jack’s gunna get you. That you’re making jokes to keep her calm. And she’s screaming and sobbing in a pitch you wish you’d never heard. She’s sorry she was excited about this game, sorry she couldn’t save anyone, sorry she can’t help you, sorry she introduced you all, sorry, sorry, so very sorry. Jack slips up, you start your tables. Rewind

There was relief in her eyes as you left. And you wonder, did they all think you couldn’t save them as you waited for them to die? Should you have left when things started going wrong or would they think you abandoned them? That’s what John and Jade never understood. They died. It was an alternate time line but they still died. They didn’t stop being real when you left.

A thirteen year old shouldn’t have to deal with that. A twenty something year old shouldn’t have to deal with that…

…You really should figure out what year it is. Kinda pathetic not to know how old you are.

You aren’t crying, you really don’t know how to. You just feel really cold. There’s more broken furniture and empty bottles everywhere. There’s even cans of Tab, that’s how desperate things are. Broken glass litters the floor, spotted with blood from where you cut your feet.

You fall one day. Shards of glass embed themselves in your flesh. It’s not worth getting up. You lay there hours, maybe days. You find vomit once when you wake up. You roll over. At least you haven’t pissed yourself.

The phone rings.

It’s Jade.

“Hey Dave. I know it’s been awhile, but… I just wanted to know if you’re doing alright.”

You’re staring at the phone like it holds all the answers, wondering if you should pick it up. But your body’s already decided, phone at your ear still lying on the floor, dangerously close to a puddle of vomit. She stopped talking noticing a change in the line.

You’re silent a moment. A voice, not recognizable as your own, scares you as it rasps out. “… I’m not alright. Jade… I’m really fucked up… I… Please... I… ”

“Help me.”

“… Okay. It’s going to be alright, Dave. Tell me where you live.”

Oh yeah, you forgot about that. You moved without telling anyone after one of their little ‘intervention’ a few years back. John broke down your door and pinned you to the floor, sitting on your chest. Rose tied you up with pink yarn saying it suits an insufferable prick like you. Jade just giggled at the whole scene.

You wish you could go back to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had to, uh, tone down on one of Roses and Jades alt deaths. They were getting a little too gruesome. Not that that really bothers me, I've been accused and found guilty of being too dark on numerous occasions. But then, that's not what I'm going for in this story.


	3. The Whiskey  Keeps Pouring

She’s coming. You won’t be alone. She’s coming.

It could be anytime; you can’t see any light and all your clocks say different times. You think maybe it’s Tuesday or Thursday. You really don’t know.

There’s a rap on the door and suddenly you’re unsure. The rap increases tempo until it sounds as though someone’s trying to beat down your door. They probably are.

“Dave, open the fucking door!”

Was that Rose? Did she bring both of them? If John’s here he’ll break the door like an overzealous Kool-Aid man if you don’t open up. He’s done it before. You only wanted to talk to Jade, if it’s all three… You open the door anyways. They’re coming in one way or another.

It’s just Jade, eyes wide as dinner plates as she takes in your appearance. You know you look like shit, you feel like shit. Blood flakes off your shirt, and you hope that’s all it is and not caked on upchuck. You don’t remember rolling in it, but then you don’t really remember a lot right now.

“Oh Gawd, Dave! How did this happen?” Her voice is really different. Lighter, less giggly, somehow more full. Oh right, she’s asking a question. You summon up all your remaining wit and boldly respond.

“What?”

She’s pointing at your chest, bits of glass still embedded. “Oh. I fell.” All the wit, all of it.

She ushers you to the couch, wincing every time you fail to avoid another shard of glass. You just see it as one less piece to track down and clean up. She strips off your shirt before fluttering about gathering tweezers, Band-Aids, alcohol. Not the kind you guzzle down, although that doesn’t seem like a bad idea. You start to get up before being shoved back down.

“Sit.” As if you had a choice. “How long has it been like this?”

“I don’t know.” And it’s the honest truth.

And she’s quiet and you’re quiet. Except, of course, when she finds a particularly ingrained shard. Or splashes rubbing alcohol over a jagged wound.

Finally, she’s done and you’re looking like a five year old who got into the Band-Aids. Then she just holds you. Stroking your hair and whispering that it’s alright. It’s awkward, your face was a bit closer to your friend’s cleavage than you really wanted, and uncomfortable, it became readily apparent that you were quite a bit taller than her, but still somehow still comforting. You’re not entirely sure you aren’t crying or snoting into her shirt for that matter. You are, however, certain that in no circumstance could this be considered the act of a cool guy.

You don’t give a shit.

 

You wake up not realizing you ever fell asleep. You aren’t sure what time it is, how long you’ve been out. She’s not there. You fall into a silent panic, twisting this way and that, Band-aids popping off in a flurry, looking for her. Then you hear her, and relax not realizing how tense you were.

“I told you. I’m going to stay here for a bit. I don’t know how long, John. He needs me. No, he’s not alright, but he will be. Ah, he’s awake. I gotta go. Mmhm. Got it. I will. Yes, Yes I’ll see you. Buh- Bye.”

Nice that some one believes in you. “How much did you tell him?”

“Enough that he knows what’s going on, not enough that he tracks me down to get to you.”

You shouldn’t say it but you do. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.” You try to disentangle yourself from the hand that’s stroking your hair. When did that start? She smacks away your attempts, ignoring your comment.

“You hungry?”

“Starving.” Who knows, it might be true. You’re not sure what you’ve eaten the past couple of days.

“Alright, shower then we’ll go somewhere nice for some grub. You smell like beer, vomit, and blood, not to mention a peculiar brand of BO.” It’s then she notices the Band-Aids. “Shoot, we’ll need to redo those. “ She starts peeling them off like wax strips off a particularly hairy dude. At first you try to fend her off, but somehow she’s everywhere. So you resign yourself to muttered curses which you would swear she repeats as though memorizing them.

The shower is cold. Unbelievably cold, proving the term balls ass cold, as your… nevermind. And it HURTS, but it makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in… a long while. It’s over too soon and not soon enough. You’re positive hypothermia has set in by now. You exit, clamping a too small towel around your waist.

The glass is gone and the wretched remains of beaten furniture lay piled in a corner. The remaining bottles have been wrangled into a solitary group, kinda like a Justin Bieber concert. Shunned from society, a depressing sight, an empty bottle. Jade’s in the kitchen, starring at the microwave with its spider web cracks, then the oven which is missing its door, as though wondering what happened. You’re wondering that too.

Before she turns and catches you in what you have now decided is a hand towel, you dart into your room to get dressed. Not decent mind you, a Dave is always decent, although, now you add the stipulation of provided he is not covered in blood, booze, and barf.

She’s still in the kitchen as you come out, but she’s staring at something on the counter. “Dave, what-?“ Before she can get another word out, you hurl it in the trash.

It’s the goddamn box. That _fucking_ box.

You can feel the ugly snarl on your face. Your teeth are grit so hard they feel on the edge of breaking. You’re glaring at her, daring her to speak so you can snap. But she’s watching you impassively. With a start, you realize you don’t have your shades; you avert your gaze. She didn’t flinch. She doesn’t hate them. Her hand is out, offering you something.

Your shades.

“They were in the garbage disposal.”


	4. On to the Floor

You go to lunch at a place a couple buildings down. It’s called Pony Express and you know there is something wrong with your block. Despite the fact it doesn’t serve horse or have people take your order from horseback or some such shit, it’s quite good. Jade’s talking about nothing and you appreciate it. She doesn’t pry or nag, she’s just there. You’re feeling good, normal, almost like Dave _Fucking_ Strider, when _she_ walks up.

“What’s this, Dave? Another conquest? Have you gone back to doing _that_?” She shakes her head in disappointment.

“Go away.”

Jade completely ignores her, continuing with her story.

“You can do better than this, Dave. This one seems a tad brainless.”

And you’re out of your seat, shades off, the fabric of her shirt fisted in your hand. “Take it back.”

She fidgets under your gaze. “What are you? Twelve? What’s said is said, there are no take backs.”

“TAKE IT BACK!” You didn’t mean to yell, you didn’t mean to shake her.

“Dave!” Jades voice is sharp but calm. “Sit.” You hesitate a moment before complying.

“Miss, I think you should leave.”

“Fuck that, I’ve got business with Strider.”

“I SAID LEAVE, FUCKASS!” That alarms everyone. And that toothy threatening grin looks familiar, though it’s normal done with a mouth that would shame a shark instead of buckteeth. You guess it makes sense she picked up some traits from the trolls, she did have the most exposure. To your amazement, she does leave.

“Ruined a perfectly good meal.” Like nothing ever happened, she continues her story.

 

Jade’s been at your place for a week now. At first she was gunna take your bed, but when you mentioned she’d probably need to change the sheets, she declined and took the couch. You didn’t have the heart to tell her she should probably use sheets on the couch too.

She hasn’t asked about the box or _her_ for which you are eternally grateful.

You tell her about the nightmares. She strokes your hair. Once, she kissed you on the forehead. You did not freak out about that and you most definitely did not screech in a most unmanly manner that you were not a kid, and she did not giggle at the spectacle you made of yourself. Nope, never happened.

It’s the middle of the ninth night, it’s a new nightmare. Red eyes are staring at you through a mask just as red. Accusing, blaming, crying. The flesh melts and the bones crumble and all that’s left are crimson globes. It isn’t you, but it might as well be. You stumble out to the bathroom to retch.

Jade hears you and hands you a glass of water when you’re done. She asks what’s wrong.

“Once, I was gunna be a dad.”

You were looking forward to it.

“She took that from me.”

And now you’re dead.

In Jades eyes you see how forlorn you look.

She says nothing, just takes your hand and leads you to your room and, after inspecting your sheets for what she would call Ick, tucks you in before crawling in beside you. You try to assure her you are quite alright and do not need someone to cuddle you to sleep. She tells you to shut up and enjoy it. Where did the giggly and naive Jade go? You fidget and try to pull away and quite suddenly your ear is against her sternum. Or in less clinical terms, your head is nestled between the mountain peaks. You guess she did this so you’d listen to her heartbeat, but you find this to be the most awkward thing has Jade done yet. Her heartbeat is unfamiliar, but calming. Still, you feel one last act of defiance is necessary.

“I’m not a fucking kid.”

She laughs. A dangerous move, what with your head in her boobs. She has won.

Awake. It’s morning, maybe 7 or so. It’s stiflingly hot and hard to breathe, you try to remove your face from whatever it’s mashed into. Oh, it’s Jade. She’s got you in a headlock like you’re a fucking tanglebuddy. A cold spot in your hair alerts you without a doubt that Jade has drooled. Your left arm ends at your elbow, pinned beneath Jade. Your right, wedged between your chest and her stomach. You’re pretty sure you can’t move it without being accused of molesting her in her sleep. It’s then you become aware of a mounting problem in your bladder.

You have to piss.

Badly.

You wiggle your fingers and call out her name softly. She shifts imperceptibly and tightens the vise.

It does not help.

“Jaaaade, get off. Hey! Sleepy slobber monster, leggo!”

Her arms loosen and she rolls over, muttering.

Freedom.

Painful feeling returns to your arm in a rush, your hand’s still stuck but a quick yank remedies that situation.

Relief is immediate as you, well, relive yourself. Upon entering your room, you notice the bed is now vacant. Jade’s up, looking at the few photographs you have in the room.

Your favorite is of the four of you, John’s laughing his ass off and the rest of you have buckets on your heads. You’ve no idea how he managed to get all three of you at once, but that’s not why it’s your favorite, ho, no. It’s too bad there isn’t a picture of your revenge. John waddling around with his ass wedged in a bucket, trying to get Rose to pull it off. Good times.

“We thought you forgot us. We thought you wanted to forget everything we went through.”

“I was trying to.” No point lying.

“Why?” And her eyes are watering up, threatening to overflow. Guilt gnaws at your innards.

“I can’t- I couldn’t look at any of you without seeing … them… Seeing you. They were you guys, every last one of them. One hundred twenty seven Johns, fifty two Roses, seventy seven Jades, they were you every time.”

She’s cupping your face in her hands, looking at you with a face that says it’s alright. She doesn’t know what it’s like but she understands. You’re hurting, you’re trying to hide it, you’re lonely, you’re scared.

It’s alright. It’s okay. You’ll get better. You’ll be stronger. You don’t have to be alone. She’ll be here. She’ll stay by you.

You want to kiss her, it’s a stupid idea but you can’t help it. She sees it but doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop you. But she’s not exactly encouraging you either. She just accepts, telling you it’s alright, even though it isn’t. Holding you when you’re telling her that that was stupid of you, that you shouldn’t have done that.

God, you wish you were better already.

 

It’s awkward, for you at least, the next couple of days. Jade seems to be unfazed by the whole ordeal. You ask her why she let you kiss her, why she didn’t freak out at you.

“You’re my friend, Dave.”

That makes you mad. “So you kiss all your friends, huh? No big deal, especially since it’s just pitiful Dave. He’s hardly worth a shit. That sound about right, Jade?” You don’t mean to say it. But you do. You’re expecting a slap, maybe a shove, being yelled at that she’s only trying to help you, god Dave why are you so fucked up.

But she doesn’t. She ignores your venom.

“That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.” And you are. She shrugs, tells you it’s alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, got nothing but a migraine right now.


	5. It’s Time to Stop Running

She asks you, just once, about the black box. You weren’t going to answer, but then… It just didn’t feel right to not. And you tell her everything.

You found her at the bottom of a glass, she said she’d make you better and even though you said you didn’t need it, it sounded good to you. And she did. When you’d wake up you knew who was beside you, you couldn’t always remember how she got there or the night before, but it was an improvement. You think you loved her, but you’re not sure if you were clinging to an ideal. She promised you nothing, but somehow, you thought she did. And it hurt when you were set straight. When you looked forward to a future and she told you there was none.

Jade listens with no judgment, consoles with no words, is just… there. Just a calming presence. When your story’s told and silence falls, she only says it’s okay, and hands you a can of Tab.

You hate this shit.

 

It’s a Wednesday in April, John calls. You haven’t talked to him or Rose yet, but as Jade would say, it’s alright. You will, you just need a little more time. Jade’s talking to him, it sounds like she forgot something. She’s dashing around the room looking for a calendar. You have none. It’s the 10th though, you saw it in the newspaper. When you tell her, she swears, apologizing to John, saying she’ll be there, she’ll see what she can do and hangs up. When you ask what’s up, she whirls on you.

“We’re going to Washington. Friday.”

You backpedal. Stutter excuses, alternatives, anything. You’re not ready for a social visit. She’s frowning, and you’re trying to figure out why she’s pushing you now. Then it clicks. Saturday, April 13, Johns birthday, the anniversary of the game.

“How long has it been?”

“Ten years.”

You’re Dave Strider, twenty three years old, trying to piece together your life. It seems like it’s been longer, yet also like yesterday. The goddamn game. The goddamn box.

You owe it to John for those stupid jokes, for giving a damn all those years ago, for loving you like a brother.

You owe it to Rose for telling you what you didn’t want to hear, for the trust you broke, for being her brother.

You owe it to Jade for dropping everything to help you, for pulling glass out of you, for cleaning up your mess, for keeping your shit together, for listening, for telling you it’s alright, for… for everything.

“Alright. Let’s get ready then.”

 

It’s Friday the 12th, 6:42 pm. You’re nervous, fucking butterflies are carnivorous, eating their way from your stomach in an attempt to arrest your lungs. John’s house is huge. He must’ve done well; you don’t even know what his job is. The door’s huge, carved with what looks like Typheus, Cetus, Echidna and even your own, Hephaestus.

It’s comforting to think that means he still thinks you’re one them, but maybe you’re just projecting. Jade’s there by your side. She took your shades. You don’t like the implications. She punches the door bell. You stifle a groan. Of course it’s the Ghost Busters theme! This is John we’re talking about. The door swings open faster than you ever thought was possible.

Johns fist greets you. Hello Dave. How are you? Really, that fist is a masterpiece. Someone should bronze that shit, put it in a museum, ten bucks admission, lead little tours of screaming children to look at it. From what you can see before it smashes your skull in, each prominent knuckle is bloodless white, flesh pulled taunt curled in a perfect fist. Oh. That’s weird. On his finger is the ugliest ring you’ve ever seen, a garish thing weighing a pound all by itself you’re certain. It fits him. Then you greet the ground.

The sky is quiet beautiful. You’re not sure the last time you sat and simply enjoyed it. But now Johns hand is blocking the view. He pulls you up, a little harsher than necessary, but it’s okay. You can feel the cut on your cheek bone from his hideous ring. You’re glad he didn’t hit you with his right arm. Sure, you wouldn’t have a cut but you’d also need an ambulance.

He’s stocky, burlier than when you last saw him. You might have been a little jealous if he didn’t look like such a dork. He’s wearing another green slime shirt that seems just a tad off of being too small. You swear those are the same glasses from ten years ago.

Speaking of glasses, you turn to Jade for your shades. She reads your mind but just shakes her head and hold up one finger, then two and points behind you.

What.

The full arm slap is certainly a surprise. At first you think John went for round two, until you focus on the violet eyes. Her hands are fisted in your shirt forcing you to look at her, she searching your face, for what you don’t know. Her hand has a ring too, different in make from John’s. It might be considered classy, but is simple to intricate and loud to fit Rose. You flicker your gaze between Rose and John.

“Sorry I missed your guys’ weddings.”

“Wedding.” John holds up one finger. Ah, that makes sense. John must’ve picked that obnoxious ring for Rose, and she, in a passive aggressive one-upmanship, got him something even worse. You can just imagine how happy John looked getting it, unaware of the competition he just lost. Or was it a win?

“I told you he never got the message.” You probably did. You probably just deleted it.

“Well, come in Strider. We’ll fix up that cut.” The Egberts(?) headed indoors. You’ll have to ask, maybe they’re Lalondes. Hell, they could even be Harleys. They’re mad, but that’s okay. They went easy on you.

“A little warning would’ve been nice, Jade.” She shrugs and hands you your shades.

“If you didn’t see that coming, you’re an idiot, Dave.”

You consider putting on your shades, a flimsy shield between the world and you, and decide against it.

 

Dinner is loud. Apparently, you’re forgiven, but it’s obvious your transgressions aren’t forgotten. You notice it in the way Roses eyes narrow when there’s an obvious disjunction in one of your stories. Or the frown John has when Jade attempts to murder him with a glare as he offers you a beer. The uncomfortable pauses when they realize they’re talking about events as though you were there when you weren’t. When you should’ve. You pretend not to notice, it’s not ideal but you’ll live. Rose pretends she doesn’t notice you pretending. You pretend you don’t notice that either.   
At one particularly uncomfortable moment of silence, Jade squeezes your hand in reassurance.

Rose misses it.

John does not.

Then you can’t help but wonder if love really does make you blind, ‘cause it’s painfully obvious John’s wondering if there’s something going on between you two, and Rose doesn’t have a damn clue why everyone’s holding a conversation with quirked eyebrows, rolled eyes and exasperate sighs. It’s when John’s giving Jade a particularly questioning stare and Jade’s rolling her eyes mouthing drop it and Rose is darting furtive glances between the two trying to figure out what was going on that you have to bite back laughter.   
“Is something the matter, Rose?” The sweetness in your voice causes her to scowl. She’s trying to get John’s attention, but he’s having none of it. He renews his efforts of silent interrogation as though he’s on the brink of success. He brings out the big guns, the puppy dog eyes.

Jades response is immediate, her eyes flare up, her entire bearing takes on a posture that suggest at any moment she will leap across the table and throttle him. Rose’s lips are pursed so tight, you’re certain they’ll never be separated again. You can feel how badly she wants to know what’s going on, but she’s too stubborn to ask. With infinite slowness she turns to face you head on.

“No Dave, everything is quiet alright.” And you’re laughing. And god, you missed this. John’s being an idiot, Jade’s being unusually stubborn, Rose is trying to be nosy, and you’re trying to keep your shit out of the pan, making jabs when the stars align. They’re all looking at you like you’ve sprouted another head and you just laugh all the louder. Pretty soon you’re all laughing, and everything feels alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is, hands down, my favorite and probably always will be. Maybe it’s because I could totally see him making a breakfast of a hot dog in a tortilla… Humorously, my least favorite of the kids is Dave, considering I’ve written a story numbering over 8000 words about him. Wait… Is that why this story is kinda depressing? Am I trying to break a Dave?   
> Nah.  
> It’s more exploring what happens to heroes when they have to return to a semi-normal life. Some do well. Some do not.


	6. Time to Fess up

Rose and Jade excuse themselves after dinner. Rose looks anxiously at John, worrying her lip, before conversing with Jade in hushed tones. Dread surges through you.

“You’re not gunna punch me again are you?”

“Pfft, no. You may be kind of a jackass, but no use beating that in to you.” He reaches in the fridge for another beer, then hands you a… GODDAMN IT! It’s fucking Tab! Where do you even get this shit? You voice your displeasure. He shrugs. How is this possible? It’s not even cold! He just pulled it out of the fucking fridge!

“Alright, follow. We’re having a man talk.”

And that’s how you end up with your pant legs rolled up shoes off dangling your feet in a pool. It’s probably 9:30-9:40 and the stars are bright.

“You have a drinking problem?” He’s sitting beside you; you’re both staring at the stars.

“Sometimes.” That’s why you’re drinking this lukewarm shitty excuse for a soda.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

And that’s that.

“How long you two been married?”

“Three years tomorrow.”

“Is everything about you going to revolve around April 13? Are you gunna plan kid around it too? … Are you planning on kids?”

“I guess.” Your eyebrow quirks and he amends his previous statement. “I mean about having kids, not the other stuff you said.” Oh, man he is fidgeting up a storm. “I mean we’re uh, trying, I guess-“ Before he can say another word you’re there, biggest shit-eating grin ever seen, no joke.

“Sooooo, John. You wanna talk about it?” His face is redder than Lohac could ever be, obviously mortified at the prospect of discussing something that intimate with his wife’s brother.

“No.” You let him regain his composure. “So, you and Jade-?”

“God Damn, Egbert! Didn’t she tell you to drop it?”

“How did-“

“You. Are. Not. Subtle. At all. Ever. And even though it’s not really your business, no. There wasn’t a thing between us.”

“Oh. I thought-“

“Wrong, dipshit. She’s just about as chaste as when she arrived.”

“Just about? Dave, what-“The second coming of the largest shit-eating grin in existence unnerves him. You could get old and die before it gets old teasing him. “So, do you have a girl or something?”

“… What did Jade tell you?”

“Nothing!” His hands are up defensively.

“… Yeah, I had a girl.” Your hands are suddenly the most interesting things in the world.

“And?” You look him in the eye. He flinches at the emotions he can see in them. You know it’s not a pretty look.

“She broke me.”

And that’s that.

 

It’s 6:42 am Saturday the 13th, this must be how a Vet feels on Armistice day. For most people it’s hot dogs and flat beer, but for you it’s personal. One hundred twenty seven, fifty two, seventy seven. The nightmare didn’t help either. Anything alcoholic sounds good at the moment, but you won’t get one. Coffee, or orange juice, you’ll have OJ _in_ coffee before another Tab.

Rose is in the kitchen, magiking the coffee maker. She’s not actually using magic on it; you just don’t really know how to operate one. Your attempts always end up burnt with a hint of chlorine. She gives you a fleeting look and without a word returns to the coffee maker. It’s quiet.

She walks to one door then the other looking this way and that, before planting herself in front of you. Both arms shoot out and you just about jump away, but her arms are out for a hug. Obliging seems the best course of action. She squeezes you tight.

“Don’t you disappear again, dumbass.” This… this you weren’t expecting.

“I won’t.” And you hope it’s the truth.

She pulls away, transforming into the Rose you’re familiar with. She nods at you.

“Strider.”

“Lalonde, er, Egbert.” Boy does that feel weird. It’s like calling John Rose with a straight face and complete sincerity. Or like drinking OJ after brushing your teeth. You love it.

“What was it you did past anniversaries?” You don’t want to answer. But she’s watching you, judging your sincerity. If you deflect, it’ll be as though you’re pulling away from them. She’ll never trust you again. Once more you find yourself studying your hands. Perfect creases, smooth with only the lightest of calluses. Buying time.

“Drank, probably. I didn’t remember most of the time, the day or even the month really. When I did… I tried my best to forget it.” Your voice is flat. There’s a little scar in the flesh between thumb and forefinger. You wonder how you got it.

“Why?”

“Fifty two Roses.” You can almost hear her eyebrow quirk. “That’s how many of you died.” Your pinky knuckle is barely noticeable. “That’s how many times I watched you die.” Your knuckles turn white when you clench them, a tendon flexes in your wrist. Your hands have no answers, no comment on your confession. Rose is silent. You figure you might as well get over with her psychoanalysis. You look up.

She’s crying. Again, you did not expect this. “Rose?”

“You should have told us. We... we all thought you were just being a stubborn ass.”

“I am. And I didn’t. And I paid for it.” There are small scars across your chest from a broken bottle. A thin line down your calf, old stitch marks on your shoulder blade, a small chunk out of your elbow, there are more, but you don’t know how or when you got them. You had problems you still don’t want to admit.

And she’s sobbing in your shirt. Hitting you, calling you names. And all you can say is:

“I’m not okay, but I will be. I will be.”

Maybe it will be true one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifty two roses sounds like a cheesy love song. One hundred twenty seven Johns sounds like a very promiscuous individual. Seventy seven jades… just sounds weird.   
> HOW DID DAVE GET MY HANDS? And the scar, the scar, how can you not know? It was betrayal, BETRAYAL I TELL YOU!  
> You have been working hard building the new sunshade and now it’s time to clean up the old one. The long splinters of wood need to be cut before being hucked into the dumpster. He, your father, mans the saw while you carry hundreds of pounds of hole ridden wood. At one point he picks up a 4x8 with one end resembling a nail ridden porcupine. He waits until you are near before springing the trap and blood is flying freely with naughty words. For weeks afterwards people insist on shaking your hand pressing thumb on wound, as if it weren’t blatantly obvious what with the giant bandage you have on it. When it does heal, it doesn’t even have the decency to be a large obvious scar.
> 
> Yeah, I like scars. Badges of honor, I tell you. Or in my case, badges of stupidity.


	7. Life Has Been Shitty

It’s 6:24 pm, you’re all jammed into Johns car or to be more accurate Johns dads car. You don’t know why he kept this old beater. At least he isn’t wearing the slime shirt today. Rose sent him back up to their room when he came down in it. The boy is hopeless. They’re bickering about directions. You can’t help but think John’s wrong and you’re pretty sure he knows it.

The backseat is cramped and hot. The a/c craps out every three seconds and none of the rear windows open. Your arm is sprawled over the backseat in an attempt for ventilation. For whatever reason, Jade has her hand on your knee, palm up. This does not escape Johns attention, which should be focused on fucking driving. He attempts to resume his eyebrow interrogation through the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Rose stops him with a jab to the short ribs when he just about rams into a Prius because he’s not paying a goddamn iota of attention to the road.

You reach the place you’re supposed to eat dinner at without dying. With how John drives, it’s a motherfucking miracle.

They got reservations, so no waiting an hour for seats and another for food. It’s a crowded place, noisy and packed with life. The waiter steers you to a table, for which you are secretly glad. Your legs are too long for booths and you’d rather not knock knees with your best friends the whole night.

Talk goes smoother than the night before. You’re all talking about the game and all the stupid things you all did. It’s hard trying not to dwell on the numbers, the faces. It’s alright, you’re okay. You’ll live. Jades hand has made its way on to the table, interlocking fingers. Squeezing in reassurance whenever you tense up. _Seventy seven_. Rose understands the gesture and studiously ignores it. _Fifty two_. John once again is an idiot, staring at your hands before turning to Rose, asking her what she thinks is going on as if you weren’t fucking there. _One hundred twenty seven_. When he gets nothing from Rose, he returns to the study of your hands. You raise a very specific finger to tell him what you think of his scrutiny.

The night wears on and conversation winds down. John’s stuffing his face with flan. Jade’s sipping a glass of wine. Rose is looking nervous, she worries her lip. She clears her throat and dons a mysterious smile.

“Hey, guys? We’re going to have a baby.”

John’s got a look of disbelief that’s slowly turning into the dumbest grin he’s got in his arsenal, before pulling Rose into an enthusiastic kiss. He lets out a whoop before shouting out to Jade and you.

“I’M GUNNA BE A DADDY!” Then he’s off, informing all the other patrons of the establishment.

“Congratulations. I guess I’m gunna be an uncle then.” You ask all the common questions. When’s it due, when did you learn, have you thought of names? Jade’s grin and line of questioning makes it apparent Rose told her the night before. They’re disusing who they think the baby will look like. Jade’s got her money on buckteeth and pink eyes. If that’s the case, you hope it’s not a boy.

You’re happy for them, you really are. But there’s a little part of you that thinks, this could have been you. You could have given the exact same announcement. It’s depressing and makes you want something other than the seltzer water you’ve got.

The conversation drops suddenly. Jade’s turned to face you, searching your eyes, concern oozing from her. You can see she’s remembering your words, middle of the night standing in the bathroom. She sees how your smile is wooden, but you’re trying damnit. It’s a happy time for them and you’re not gunna fuck it up with your shit.

 _Once, I was gunna be a dad_. Jade squeezes your hand tight. _She took that from me_.

“I’m sorry, Dave.” You give her a tight lipped smile and gently squeeze her hand.

A loud din of noise announces Johns return and you drop your shit to celebrate with him. You’re teasing him, maybe the kid’ll look exactly like Nick Cage and he’s got this look that says that would be the greatest thing. Of course then you mention it might not be his then and might really be Nicks. He turns to you with the most serene trusting face he’s got. He takes awhile to actually focus on you. He’s downed a lot of drinks.

“Nah, I _know_ this one’s mine.” His voice is loud, all volume control lost. A grin’s splitting his face. He nods solemnly.

“Oh? How’s that?” You can see Rose watching the two of you with interest. John leans up real close, like he’s telling you a secret. Too bad he’s mixed up whispering and shouting.

“CAUSE I DID IT WITH ROSE LA-shit- EGBERT!” He gives you a conspiratorial nod. Rose is pinching her nose, shaking her head, faint smile on her lips.

John’s too wasted to drive. So, after dragging him into the backseat of his crappy car, you take point. John and Jade are both asleep in the backseat snoring relatively softly. Well, relative if you compare Jade to John and John to a biplane. Rose is playing navigator, so aside from the occasional direction, it’s quiet. Relatively.

Approximant silence weighs heavy in the beater. Rose is obviously thinking about the little, ah, moment you had at dinner. You really don’t want to bring it up. She looks ready to speak and you’re bracing for impact.

“Dave. Whatever happened in the past… don’t… Don’t let it kill you.”

You read the subtext. She knows shit happened, but unless you want to talk about it, she’s not gunna pry.

She cares. You love her for it.

 

When you all get back, you head for the pool, just standing, watching the water lap around the sides. You even grabbed yourself a Tab. You are so proud of yourself. You hear the door open, then close, and you know its Jade, even though you can’t see her.

“I’m sorry.” She’s got no reason to be. Sometimes life is just shitty.

“… You know what’s the worst part? I don’t even know if it would’ve been born yet. You know, if…if she didn’t do it. I don’t even know how long ago it was.” It’s fucked up, but you can’t fix it.

Jade almost bowls you over into the pool. She’s clinging to you repeating over and over she’s sorry, she’s sorry it’s so unfair and it’s your turn to stroke her hair and tell her it’s alright.

And that’s the truth. It hurts and it sucks, but it’s alright. You’ll live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta wonder how much it gets across at the beginning that Dave doesn’t really have a concept of the passage of time and that the more aware of it he is, the better his psych is. Eh.   
> Next, the thrilling conclusion to the story that has kept you riding the edge of your seat. Psh, yeah sure.


	8. But Tomorrow will be Okay

Its 10:26 on April 13th. You’re Dave Strider, twenty nine years old and you’re alright. Even after two years, you still can’t help but to twist your ring. A simple twisted silver band, an engraving of Nak Nak inside. You still haven’t forgiven John for that. Everyone else is inside for the moment, preparing for lunch. You’re outside on babysitting duty. He’s sitting in your lap reaching for your shades. It’s quite laughable, as he’s so little and you’re so tall. You place them on him.

God, he looks just like you.

You’re so glad he got your red eyes. Though, you’re not sure how he ended up a redhead what with your genetics and all. Your niece is inside probably being more of a hindrance than help. She got Johns buckteeth, but it’s endearing.

He’s curled up in your lap asleep now. It is with some dismay you realize he’s drooling.

You haven’t touched your beer since you opened it in the kitchen. It’s probably warm by now, but it sounds like heaven. A sip and you pour it in the grass. You don’t know when it started, but John switches your beer with Tab EVERY GODDAMN CHANCE HE GETS! You think it’s his weird fetish with his prankster’s gambit.

The nightmares still occasionally taunt you, but you live with them. It can’t all be perfect.

The sliding glass door slams open, letting a barrage of voices out. He wakes with a wail. Rose scoops up her nephew and he quiets down. John’s heading for the barbeque a plate full hot dogs and an over exuberant daughter underfoot. Jade’s behind you grinning like a maniac. She hands you a beer. A real beer, not this ha ha Dave, it’s the shit you hate, beer that isn’t actually beer at all. She trusts you not to get carried away.

Rose chides you for wetting yourself. You mention how fat she’s getting. A wiener hit you in the face. John is the very picture of innocence. Their second kid is on its way, it’s apparent in Roses girth. Jade tilts your head back to kiss you. A good idea, one that will never get old.

You see her ring. It’s simple and elegant. John helped you- Scratch that. You picked it all by yourself. John was a dumbass, pointing out the ugliest pieces of shit you’ve ever seen. Rose took it to be engraved, without your permission.

It says Doof.

John thinks he has you beat in the kids race. You’ve got news for him. Twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the bottom of the glass, shattered on the ground, the whiskey keeps pouring on to the floor. It’s time to stop running, time to fess up. Life has been shitty, but tomorrow will be okay.
> 
> It’s OVER! Yesssss! And it has a happy ending. Even better.   
> I gotta say a lot of the ‘Dave’s fucked up’ stories have an ending that makes you go D:  
> I love them from a morbid standpoint, but damn, I don’t want to write one. It’d be like investing a lot of time in a project and IT ALL GOES HORRIBLY WRONG! So it would be kinda depressing and not as satisfying.  
>  Hmmm, one of these days I’m gunna have to try Tab. I’ve seen it before, a lonely pink box in the aisles of Stater Bros., but my cravings for Pepsi win out every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! First fic I've done and boy does it start off sad... It's been a while since I've really sat down and written anything so I'd love feedback. I often feel the commas get away from me but that might just be paranoia on my part. I have all eight chapters finished already so you'll be seeing more shortly.


End file.
